


striking hot iron

by flame_emperor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Light Angst, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Mutual Pining, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Post-War, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27780265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flame_emperor/pseuds/flame_emperor
Summary: “Dorothea, anybody with a pair of ears would know you got the position through your voice and nothing else. If even I can stand witness to that from simply watching your rehearsals today, what more the others? What more an actual opera?”Dorothea could feel herself smiling, as if out of her own volition. “Oh, Edie, you flatter me…”“I wouldn’t flatter you, Dorothea. I’m your friend. And as such, I’d only tell you the truth.” Edelgard said. She looked at Dorothea intensely, like one of those stares Byleth gave her, the ones that made her feel as if her layers were being stripped off one by one. Uncomfortable. “Your voice is beautiful, but you, even more. I mean it.”Months after the war, Dorothea gives it a try.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ferdinand von Aegir & Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	1. opera

They were rehearsing for an opera in around two weeks’ time. Dorothea had been working in the Mittelfrank Company overtime for almost four days straight now, and today, she decided she had enough. The first thing she did upon her morning arrival was ask her co-director if she could go home earlier. She really didn’t take no for an answer.

She later found out it was the right decision to do, no matter how shameless. Just today, they had spent the entire morning repeatedly sifting through the same act, of which had at least hundreds of lines. With the new responsibility of co-director—though Dorothea didn’t feel she had the position, really, the original director was too much of a snoot—came with the added burden of having to mentor all the other singers as if they were novices. She felt awkward having to tell a songstress who had stayed in the company longer than her, _you might be better off a soprano,_ or _belt your voice like this instead_. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to have any qualms with it; whether it was out of respect for Dorothea herself or some form of authority she unknowingly gained during the war, she wasn’t sure.

Regarding the director though, Dorothea was going to have to tolerate him. He probably thought Dorothea had only acquired the position from her contribution to the war or her ties to the emperor. Completely false, but she’d still have to show him one day. She’d even write an entire opera and make herself a lead if that’s what it meant.

Regardless, Dorothea was going to endure everything possibly unpleasant with the company. Quit her life as a songstress and she’d be nothing but a leech to the Empire. If she were someone else, perhaps that would’ve been the perfect life: scramble for survival for the first half of it then idle and indulge yourself the next. But Dorothea wasn’t someone else. She dragged herself back onstage. For the remaining hours of rehearsal, she felt that she could force a few bursts of motivation—or rather, two hours of tolerance—before feeling like she was genuinely going to faint. The worst part wasn’t even the singing; the worst part was the waiting, stalling, listening to her colleagues belt out their lines only to get cut off by the director, who forced them to loop their lines until it satiated some sadistic part of him. She’d wait until it was her turn in line for a possible reprimand, like they were all prisoners and captives and he was the headsman and—ugh, nevermind. She was overreacting again.

-

On what felt like the hundredth rehearsal of the same scene, it was finally her turn to sing. Meters away, Dorothea thought she saw Edelgard in the audience. Dorothea was sitting on a makeshift bed-turned-stage-prop, delivering a princess in love with a merchant when she absently scanned the patron seats and found a familiar, white head. After all her lines were over, Dorothea stood at the side and stared and squinted at the audience, and confirmed that, yes, the white head in question was unmistakably Edelgard’s, and on each of her side, Ferdinand and Hubert. As always, Edelgard was in the middle, wearing a silk white dress with her hair down. Especially with her crown absent, Edelgard didn’t look like the emperor at all. Meters away and onstage, Dorothea thought she looked but, and exactly as she had come: an audience member. After a few minutes of distracted staring, Dorothea noticed Edelgard start to smile. Edelgard modestly lifted a hand into the air and waved it. She was trying to greet somebody. Was she looking at Dorothea?

Unsure if the wave was for her, Dorothea returned a vague gesture of acknowledgment, awkwardly lifting her hand and running it through her hair. She was not going to make a fool of herself in front of the Emperor, especially in what was supposedly her best state: onstage.

-

After the director had decided he had given them enough of a brutal punishment for today, rehearsals were over. Dorothea gave her thanks to her colleagues before rushing to her friends who were surprisingly free of a throng. Hubert’s ability to repel anybody on sight must have bested the curiosity of her songsters; even the minstrel, the one man who Dorothea thought could compete with her flamboyance, had stayed away.

One look at Hubert confirmed her surmise. The shade of his leather suit was dark enough that Dorothea could not guess whatever else he had possibly hidden underneath his vest, besides at least four knives and a poisonous herb. Ferdinand, on the other hand, was painfully predictable; he liked to wear armor outside, unnecessarily so, and resembled a Paladin who had momentarily mounted off his horse.

Dorothea approached them. “Hello. There aren’t any shows this week. Why’d you guys come? You didn’t even sit in the Emperor’s box.”

“Despite my talent in song, I’m not much of a songster,” Ferdinand said, probably expecting the laughter that never came, “But I came here to personally witness the beauty of song from the beautiful and talented Dorothea!”

“Ferdinand wanted to see you and Manuela sing.” Hubert said.

“Manuela?” Dorothea asked, completely ignoring Ferdinand, “But she wasn’t around to sing today and only stopped by for a visit.”

Edelgard shook her head. “Yes, but we wanted to see you, too.”

“Thank you, Edie. That’s very sweet. And look what you have here—the emperor in white, and her ministers in armor and black. You guys are so dramatic that it makes me wish we could’ve been singing about you. Not some depraved merchant falling in love with a princess.”

“Is the opera boring you now?” Ferdinand asked. “Have you not been enjoying yourself?”

“Boring? Well...” Singing had somehow gone stale to Dorothea after years of bloodshed, but she couldn’t say it was boring per se. Boring, no. Tiring, maybe. “It’s getting a bit difficult, I guess you could say that.” They watched the songsters rush out of the auditorium. “I’m just fatigued, that’s all.”

“If it makes you feel better, Dorothea, we couldn’t tell at all.” Edelgard said. “But that’s hardly the point. Let’s return to the Palace so you could take the time to rest.”

Before Dorothea could say her thanks, Ferdinand’s eyes lit up as he stared past Dorothea’s left ear. “Well, hello, Manuela! We came to see you.”

“How sweet of you, Ferdinand!”

“It’s my pleasure! How are you?”

“I’m grand. Thanks for asking.” Manuela said. Meanwhile, Dorothea was busy looking somewhere else, staring at the edge of the company ceiling, and on it, an insignificant detail she had never even noticed in the years she had been here, a convex carving that resembled a lion’s claw, to forget… whatever it was she wanted to forget. She wasn’t sure. Manuela’s chatter, usually comforting, were mere individual words she could not bring herself to comprehend. Dorothea felt like a husk of herself. She was there, sitting beside Edelgard and absently toying with the curls and split ends of her hair, but she was reduced to a vague awareness of her own physical presence, that she was in a body, a real body, yet her mind was floating somewhere else, stubborn. She thought about the comb on her table; the portrait Edelgard had painted of her two weeks ago, hung now in her own bedchambers in the Palace; the half-empty glass of milk she could not stomach during breakfast. Her life was grand—just like Manuela would say, and she knew it had to be true, because Manuela knew her well enough—but it did not feel like it. When she came to, Edelgard was asking Manuela about the new apartment she had gotten in Enbarr.

“It’s a pretty apartment near the seaside. The air is nice and a bit chiller. There must be something in the sea,” Manuela said.

“True. Do you live alone?” Edelgard asked Manuela politely, a bit awkwardly, but Dorothea recognized her nosiness. In a few days, Edelgard would subtly bring it up to Dorothea, because she was a gossiper.

“Well…” Manuela said, blushing. “Let’s talk about that some other time, shall we?”

-

After waiting for the crowds to disperse, they returned outside. Of course they had brought the carriage with them, but Dorothea wasn’t about to complain. The carriage was huge and blatantly royal, surely more comfortable than the same horse she rode to and from Mittelfrank every day. In this carriage, people could look at them and speculate why they were roaming Enbarr. What business did they have here? A crackdown on some sketchy merchant selling Almyran psychoactive drugs? A public execution? No! They were here, simply, to fetch Dorothea Arnault.

She walked to the carriage, opened the door without waiting for Ferdinand or Hubert, and did a little curtsy for Edelgard.

“Step inside, milady,” Dorothea said.

Edelgard rolled her eyes and sighed in resignation. “Oh, Dorothea, please,” She took a step and entered the carriage first anyway.

Before climbing up the carriage steps herself, Dorothea looked back and saw Ferdinand mounting her horse, which, in such a brief time, had seemed to take a liking to him already. Hell. She could never force herself some comfort on that horse no matter how hard she tried.

-

As always, the carriage was stuffy and humid, but the royal design, carved and engraved with ruby and gold, had given it an illusion of comfort.

Once Edelgard made herself comfortable and sat down across Dorothea, she asked, “Why go back and forth on horseback—”

Dorothea cut her off. “What do you want me to do, bring a wyvern?” She knew what Edelgard was about to say: _why go back and forth on horseback when you can have your own carriage?_ They’ve had this conversation aplenty, but it was a mutual understanding that no matter how hard Edelgard would pry, Dorothea would always decline.

“Yes, actually. I could even ask Claude to send one over, if that’s what you prefer. How many wyverns do you want? In what colors?” Edelgard laughed then composed herself. Immediately, she had returned to being the emperor. “No, really. I don’t understand why you force yourself such discomfort when you clearly have better alternatives. I’ve seen how you mount your horse in the mornings before departing for the company.”

How embarrassing. What Dorothea initially thought was a secret and shameful struggle in her routine was common knowledge. For the first time in her life, she felt genuinely ashamed of her lack of skill in riding. Her absence in academy stable duties was now biting her ass _months_ after the war, and even worse, although Edelgard herself wasn’t an equestrian per se, she was justifiably adequate in riding that she could mount a horse for miles, which meant her condescension, albeit unintentional, was entirely valid.

Dorothea momentarily scrambled in thinking of a cheeky response: _it’s about the journey, Edie_ ; _Edie, there’s something noble about horseback-riding, didn’t you know?_ ; or even, _I’m not trying to get crucified by bringing a carriage when everybody else walks to the company_ —ah, nevermind. Dorothea sighed. After all those years together, it was now useless to orchestrate performances in front of Edelgard. “Fine. It’s just… I don’t want people at the company talking, you know? I want them to know that I’m just like them—with no special treatment from you or any of the Empire officials. And I don’t want them thinking I got that position of co-director from being a war captain or my ties to the Empire. I want them to know I’m there because of what I can do, not because of what I did.”

“Dorothea, anybody with a pair of ears would know you got the position through your voice and nothing else. If even I can stand witness to that from simply watching your rehearsals today, what more the others? What more an actual opera?”

She could feel herself smiling, as if out of her own volition. “Oh, Edie, you flatter me…”

“I wouldn’t flatter you, Dorothea. I’m your friend. And as such, I’d only tell you the truth.” Edelgard said. She looked at Dorothea intensely, like one of those stares Byleth gave her, the ones that made her feel as if her layers were being stripped off one by one. Uncomfortable. “Your voice is beautiful, but you, even more. I mean it.”

Suddenly, a piercing feeling of nausea overtook Dorothea, a knot of tension rigid in her chest. Hard and seemingly impossible to uncoil. Her throat started to ache. She blinked, and then realized what it was when she felt her eyes well up: tears. Fuck. It was, annoyingly, just the perfect thing to hear after four days straight of overwork and feeling like she was genuinely going to explode onstage. And she never liked crying in front of Edelgard, because how could she burden the Emperor with something so petty as her feelings? But before she could muster up some miraculous, formidable effort to stop it, like frantically twisting the head of a faucet tightly, it was too late; the tears, stinging and wet, were already flowing down her cheeks.

Then Dorothea gave up on pretending not to cry. Her arms uselessly were splayed out on her sides. She was too overwhelmed, so much so that she couldn’t even mutter to ask Edelgard: _which part of me did you mean?_

Edelgard didn’t say anything. The faint clacking of hooves on stone and Dorothea’s own ragged gasping mockingly echoed through the carriage. Edelgard meekly offered her a handkerchief, but Dorothea, too paralyzed with tears to make any sense of it, only stared at the embroidered cloth. Edelgard had ended up moving over to her side of the couch and wiping the tears on her cheeks for her. Her fingertips, occasionally grazing Dorothea’s skin, were so soft and gentle to the touch that it was difficult to believe how ruthless Edelgard had once been, or how she could possibly deserve such kindness from Edelgard, of all people. It was especially difficult to fathom Edelgard’s compassion when she was up close.

Edelgard’s thumb was stroking her wet cheek, slowly slipping to the corner of her lips. Dorothea could feel the warmth of Edelgard’s breath on her cheekbones. Edelgard pressed her fingertips against Dorothea’s lips, using her wet thumb to part them slightly. She wanted to turn her head to Edelgard’s hand, but there was a present fear that if she acted too desperate, Edelgard would realize what she was doing and pull away, in the most probable case that Dorothea was merely a passing moment of impulse for her. Yet, Edelgard was still looking at her intently, no longer concerned or restrained. They’ve done this a number of times—during the war, and even in the academy, when nobody was looking, and even as little as a playful and chaste kiss was enough evidence that Edelgard always had a position of power and control over her. Even so, Dorothea was willing to submit, and every time, she wanted, so badly, to kiss Edelgard until they were both breathless. Dorothea was getting excited. There was no restraint, for not a hesitant quirk to the way Edelgard was running her thumb through Dorothea’s lips. Dorothea licked what she could of Edelgard’s peeking fingertips. She tasted her own tears. “What are you waiting for?” Dorothea asked.

Edelgard did not answer. Finally, she leaned forward, closing the possible gap between their bodies so that their chests touched, exhaled, ran her tongue along Dorothea’s lips, and began to play along with the friction of Dorothea’s mouth against hers, the wetness of it, the flicker of heat, the excitement. Edelgard’s other hand was on her hip, sliding to her side, and then to her breast. She could feel Edelgard’s loose but sure grip on her chest. Dorothea wanted to stay there forever. She was almost addicted to this point of intimacy, just after suspense, which made her feel so good, so needed and loved, that the thought of losing it was almost horrific.

She bit Edelgard’s lip. It seemed to be the wrong thing to do, because Edelgard stilled and pulled away, albeit chastely, as if to tell Dorothea that she did not at least regret it. Still, it stung, but the tradeoff was that she was able to kiss Edelgard today until she was breathless. Edelgard gently removed herself from Dorothea, and like all kisses, they don’t talk about it. Dorothea was still crying.

The overwhelm and embarrassment had done nothing to stop her eyes from leaking, and Dorothea cried the entire ride home—or, no, to the palace, she meant. Edelgard must have pitied her so, because she comforted and stroked the small of Dorothea’s back the entire time, as if she were some stray cat that had somehow ended up in the dining hall, the same way Dorothea had somehow ended up by her side.

-

Finally, they arrived at the pavilion. The carriage door swung open, and Dorothea saw Hubert outside, his prepared arm stretched out to help her and Edelgard down the steps. When it was Dorothea’s turn to step down, she weakly held onto Hubert’s arm. She saw him look at her face, fresh with tears and traces of snot, from the corner of her eye. Somehow, showing herself like that to Hubert wasn’t so embarrassing, because everybody was powerlessly transparent under him anyway. He gave her a questionable look. If he did notice anything, he didn’t say it.

Edelgard walked up the stairs leading to the palace as Dorothea followed her. Dorothea looked behind and expected Hubert and Ferdinand to be there, tailing her as well, but then realized they had to lead the horses back to the stables. She watched Hubert mount his horse as Ferdinand waited for him until they ultimately took off.

Dorothea felt a sort of dread climbing the stairs behind Edelgard, more so walking behind her alone, unsure if she could stand embarrassing herself further today. When Edelgard noticed Dorothea’s absence at her side, she stopped to turn and look over her shoulder. Edelgard held out her arm to Dorothea. “Come. Where are you going?”

Dorothea ran to her, almost desperately, and grabbed her elbow and clung to it, and Edelgard just let her. Dorothea wasn’t even sure where they were going. She had only planned to lock herself in her bedchambers until some servant would notice she hadn’t eaten dinner and then knock on her door to serve her a meal. Selfish, she knew, but it would be one way to feel significant and needed.

“Let’s wait for Hubert and Ferdinand in the sitting room, then we can have dinner after.” Edelgard said once they finally entered the main hall. At this point, she had completely resigned control of her arm to Dorothea, continuously walking as if Dorothea were a physical extension of her torso.

Dorothea merely squeezed Edelgard’s forearm in response. There was a reassuring and comfortable familiarity clinging to Edelgard. It felt as if they were schoolgirls all over again, linking arms and walking from one class to the next.

They walked through the east wing, into the unilluminated sitting room, and inside, settled down on a nice, leather couch. Edelgard shook her arm from Dorothea’s release to stand up. She lit a candle on the table before ultimately leaving the room. Was she going to leave Dorothea here? But then she returned a few seconds later with a black kitten cradled in her arms. A Hresvelgion Whisker, Dorothea recognized. Edelgard was so unpredictable sometimes. She walked towards Dorothea as she fondled the kitten’s head resting on her chest.

“Isn’t she adorable?” Edelgard said, seating herself beside Dorothea.

Dorothea only nodded, didn’t want to hear the ugly hoarseness of her voice. She lost her beauty, and it had dissipated without permission. Dorothea’s lack of a response didn’t seem to bother Edelgard either; she looked content in silence, the amusement with petting the Whisker pleasing her enough that she no longer cared for Dorothea’s opinion. Edelgard didn’t seem to tire of spoiling the kitten in her arms. That damned lucky creature.

When Dorothea finally felt coherent enough, she insisted on keeping the handkerchief for the meantime. She wanted to salvage what little fragment of dignity she had left. Edelgard refused, almost casually grabbing it from the clutch of her palm when Dorothea asked, but Dorothea was quick enough to snatch it away.

“Sorry, Edie, it’s just that—it’s gross. Please don’t touch it. It has my sweat and snot all over it, and I’m sorry I had to defile your hankie like that… I’ll wash it myself and return it to you once it dries up.”

“Nonsense.” She held her palm out, asking for the return of her soaked handkerchief, but the Whisker started to claw on Edelgard’s gloves. Somehow, cradling a misbehaving kitten in her arms did nothing to Edelgard’s authority; she was still as serious and commanding as ever. “Shh, stop it,” She slouched down to whisper in the kitten’s ears. She sat back up again, shook its tiny arms off her wrist until it behaved, and left her palm open and expectant.

Edelgard didn’t even care for the filth, but there was no way Dorothea was going to shamelessly surrender the disgusting handkerchief in question. Finally, Edelgard retracted her hand, and used it to continue stroking the kitten’s flank instead. “I see, then. Nevermind. Anyhow, that wretched director must’ve been so unbearable to push all of you around like that. What’s his name?”

Dorothea laughed. She caught a glimpse of her own reflection on a wall mirror just behind Edelgard and found that her eyes and nose were still pink. She immediately looked away, wondering just how vulnerable she looked to her. “No, Edie, it’s okay. It was just a bad day. We can have dinner with Hubie and Ferdie and forget all about it. Then I can finally ask Ferdie how in the hell he managed to get that damned horse to cooperate so _well_ when even I can’t—” Dorothea cut herself off, took a deep breath—how she was still releasing steam after almost an hour of crying was beyond her—and exhaled. “…and then, everything will be fine, of course, because _life is grand!_ The Adrestian war heroes were able to watch me in the opera today, what else could I ask for?”

She was orchestrating a performance again, she realized. Edelgard simply shook her head. “Let’s just have a hot dinner soon, then, if you prefer, forget all about it. I suppose you’ll feel better by then.” 


	2. teatime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Dorothea Arnault.

For the first time in weeks, Dorothea felt well and rested. She stared at her bedchamber’s ceiling and appreciated its stillness. There was nothing she could hear, not even the chirping birds, the clacking of hooves on stone, the vague voice of the director hellishly ringing in her head. Finally, it was over.

She stayed in bed for a few more minutes and took pleasure in conceding to the inertia of oversleep. She was sure she had been oversleeping. It was one of those unbelievably long slumbers that gave her the consequence of stiff accumulated crusts on her eyelids, which made her feel ugly in a natural but grotesque way, like a tiny price to pay for sloth. She felt the comfortable, subtle heat of the sun. It must have been a few hours into the afternoon into the Sunday. It was the perfect time to idle, but instead, Dorothea fought the temptation and stood to prepare herself for the day.

When she was finished washing herself, her face still dripping wet, she walked to her window and looked at the palace garden below. It was surprisingly empty, though strangely not unpleasant, and she felt a selfish satisfaction in the fact that she had the garden all to herself. She liked to spend her free time dallying around the palace on Sundays: gossiping with the servants; writing letters to faraway friends; looking at the flowers, despite having a non-existent green thumb. Sundays were for self-indulgence, and Sundays were for Dorothea, when she felt like her idleness was justified, and she would not have to feel like such a bum.

For Dorothea, it was easy to feel useless after the war, despite having concrete evidence of her competence back then; she had been assigned her own battalions, each soldier personally hand-picked by Edelgard, and was even Edelgard’s adjutant for several skirmishes here and there. Dorothea wasn’t particularly proud of her objectively impressive track record during the war, but she had no choice but to acknowledge it; in this new world they were headed towards, this was her merit. Edelgard had even offered her the position of a Minister a few weeks after killing Rhea, to which… she immediately refused.  _ I’d like to live as a commoner, but I appreciate it, Edie. _ Dorothea did not bother to ask what department it was for. 

She wondered if she should have regretted her decision. She should probably consult Ferdinand or Hubert, she thought, but alas, trying to catch one of the ministers alone was like playing a game of chicken. Ferdinand and Hubert seemed inseparable during most of the day—politics did strange things to relationships—and because one of them always had to be by Edelgard, they were, by default, a triad. Still, Dorothea clung onto the hope that she would get her turn with at least one of them someday. She would visit the training grounds in the morning, hopefully to see Ferdinand with his lance. Hubert, on the other hand, was more elusive, and Dorothea gave up trying to look for him, who was almost never seen dallying around the Palace. Hubert was always moving around with purpose.

Fortunately, she was able to catch Ferdinand one day.  _ I suggest you consult Lady Edelgard again, _ Ferdinand had suggested to her. He was still panting from training. The accumulated sweat on his chest had made his cotton vest translucent that Dorothea had to look away.  _ Surely she would not have asked you if it weren’t for your apparent skill. _

But before Dorothea could ask  _ what merit? What skill?, _ he excused himself with a swift  _ Apologies for the abrupt leave, but Hubert is summoning me… somewhere! _ Dorothea helplessly watched him sprint away.

She soon realized that consulting the ministers was futile and decided to write to Petra one day. Thankfully, Petra was a swift communicator. Her reply arrived not less than a week after Dorothea sent her letter through pegasi. Petra replied with a parcel instead of a letter, and upon unwrapping it, Dorothea was surprised to see unsolicited souvenirs: grinded coffee beans for Hubert and a tiny, premium whetstone for Ferdinand. None for the rest in Enbarr, not even Edelgard. Petra was wise. She was giving Dorothea reason to seek all of them herself. Dorothea was just as wise though; she was saving it for another day, and the packet of coffee and the orange whetstone were still in her table’s drawer.

Dorothea went down the stairs and came closer to the garden. She passed the main hall, through the corridor, passed where the ivy overhung the walls, passed the long courtyard that stretched into the garden, greeted a few servants, laughing with them, too, walking, and eventually found that her assumption about her own solitude for today had been wrong. She saw them.

**-**

When she arrived at the garden, Dorothea almost felt like she had interrupted something by showing up, as if her accidental presence had somehow disrupted their usual, natural flow of conversation. For some reason, she assumed they were talking about military matters outside the scope of her expertise, but because they saw her, they had to sweep the matter aside for another time out of courtesy. But she was wrong. 

She saw Edelgard smiling at her. Edelgard looked so happy and eager to see her that she automatically walked towards her and seated herself among them. It was not unsurprising for Dorothea to do so. Inasmuch as she felt they did not have much need for her, she took every opportunity she could to join them. It was unsurprising, too, talking and laughing and drinking tea like they were students. Edelgard still preferred Bergamot. She wasn’t so sure about Hubert and Ferdinand though. Six years into knowing each other and how could she not know? But it didn’t matter. They welcomed her into the table and made space for her. Her and Edelgard sat across from each other.

“Of course, I think Ferdie grew the most handsome,” Dorothea said.

“Dorothea—”

“Ferdie, see, just look how much you’ve grown!” Dorothea ruffled Ferdinand’s head as a gesture of endearment. When she retracted her hand, she saw, with it, a few strands of Ferdinand’s hair. She looked at it in awe and lifted it up into the air, as if Ferdinand’s stray lock of hair were a kind of rare artifact. “Wait, what? Ferdie, I’m so sorry to ask, but are you… balding?”

“No! Of course not, Dorothea. I must tell all you now, but I take extremely diligent care of my hair. This was simply a result of your strength—oh, Dorothea, ouch!” Ferdinand said, feigning pain, “Must you be so merciless, and pull out my hair with such force? My skull is throbbing.”

“Ferdinand, cut the act.” Edelgard said, suppressing a giggle. “I know what your father looks like.”

Hubert laughed sinisterly, looking genuinely satisfied at Ferdinand’s agony. “That’s correct. You cannot escape your heredity, or your fate. Did you know that? After your term as Prime Minister, you shall become a monk since it is what your fate dictates. Fortunately for you, you need not even do tonsure. Hahaha!”

“Hubert!” Edelgard raggedly laughed. She and Hubert looked at each other knowingly. “No, Ferdinand, really. I’m serious. Help yourself out. You’ve heard of wigs, have you not? I could even have one personally sewn for you, using the finest hairs from your favorite horse.” Edelgard went on, “Her mane, or the hairs on her rear: take your pick.”

“Fine! I concede!” Ferdinand cried out, pushed to the brink with Edelgard’s teasing and the collective mental image of his half-bald self. “We’ve all exhausted ourselves from the war, so this… depletion, is completely excusable! And natural!” Ferdinand looked desperate. “Don’t you agree, Edelgard?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nevermind. Your Majesty, how was your trip to the optometrist, if I may ask?” Ferdinand was trying to change the subject, but he was also trying to prove that even The Emperor had her own flaws, too. He must have thought it would save him the brunt of mockery, but it did the opposite; now, Edelgard looked displeased.

Edelgard pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Ferdinand, I told you not to mention that to anyone.”

Edelgard had visited the optometrist? No wonder she had left for town the other day. From the side, Dorothea saw Hubert cut his eyes at Ferdinand.

“Edie,” Dorothea was so curious that she couldn’t help it, but she swore not to make the same mistake as Ferdinand. Careful not to sound too eager, she asked, “What did you have to visit the optometrist for?”

“Unfortunately, Her Majesty’s eyesight has been degenerating.” Hubert said.

“Edie, then what’s the problem—”

“Hubert.” Edelgard sternly said.

“I apologize for overstepping, Your Majesty.”

“As you should. Now, stop this discussion. Let’s talk of something else.”

“No, Edelgard, I must apologize as well,” Ferdinand said, looking serious now, “Know that I did not intend any malice in my questioning. I simply wanted to know, but my naïve curiosity had bested me.”

Edelgard ignored them. She was frustrated, and Dorothea suddenly realized why. To the average person, blurred vision was a misfortune; to Edelgard, it was a sign of weakness. Hubert had only tried to spare her from the admission herself.

“Your Majesty, a pair of spectacles is nothing to be ashamed of, of course, for someone of your status. It would be a sign of diligence, don’t you think?” Hubert said, as if he were goading Edelgard, though he was completely serious. “Just think of what the historians should write—that the Lady Edelgard had spent hours, and  _ hours _ , writing and reviewing treaties on parchments for all of Fodlan, that she, unfortunately, had consequently damaged her eyes.”

**“** Correct!” Ferdinand said. “And despite Edelgard tirelessly working to demolish Fodlan’s nobility…” He paused for a dramatic flair. It was pleasantly surprising and relieving how casually he could now mention ‘nobility’. “She was, in fact, the noblest of all! True Praxis.”

“Why—” Though still visibly irritated, Edelgard seemed to feel better by then. “Now, that’s enough, you two.”

Dorothea giggled. “Oh, Edie, it’s not  _ that _ bad. You could have a stylish eyepiece like…”  _ Hanneman,  _ Dorothea almost said, but she bit her tongue before the disaster could slip out. Dorothea could not remember anybody significant enough who donned eyepieces, a monocle, anything. She changed her mind. “No. We could go to town, and we could get you a neat pair of spectacles. Golden, to match the little buttons on your dress. What do you think?”

“Thank you, Dorothea, I appreciate it. It’s just…” Edelgard sighed, clearly unhappy and at a loss for words. It was fascinating to see Edelgard shuffle her moods so quickly. Just one moment she was angry; the next, irritated; now, defeated. Edelgard’s degenerating eyesight being the object of her sense of defeat was almost comical, but Dorothea saw through it. It wasn’t the damned blurring images or having to wear a stupid pair of spectacles that bothered Edelgard. It was fear, and Dorothea recognized it.

First, her silver-white hair; then, her bouts of exhaustion, most likely from the physical stress of having two crests; and now, her blurred vision. What would happen to her in the next decade, or even less? Edelgard feared that she would be reduced to a red, inutile, clump. “Well, nevermind. I suppose I might have to accept such a fate. Perhaps in a decade or so, a marble sculpture of myself would be erected right here. And don’t forget—more important than the crown, or the horns—the obnoxiously huge golden spectacles: a grand display of my inability of sight. Mark my word, everybody. Don’t you forget. The legacy of Edelgard the Blind—she, who led Fodlan to unification.”

After a moment’s hesitation—was it okay to laugh?—Dorothea decided to indulge Edelgard, and she burst into laughter. Dorothea laughed as hard as she could remember these past few days **,** like there was no anxious waiting on Byleth, no underground war on the Slithers and Lord Arundel to deal with, and… nevermind, enough. She was restless and getting ahead of herself. Things were going to be fine. It was the mere understandable anxiety from waiting for the professor to return from Shambhala. Dorothea laughed, simply, because she knew it would make Edelgard feel better.

“You’re welcome, everybody. I see that my agony seems to entertain.”

Edelgard was smiling in concession. She was no longer angry. Dorothea imagined her in a pair of pretty, gold spectacles, her large eyes magnified from glass lenses, and her initials engraved on the rims. 

-

When they decided that afternoon teatime was over, they returned to the central council room. Edelgard’s degenerating eyesight and Ferdinand’s imminent alopecia were now things of the past, now replaced by the current subject: Duke Fraldarius.

A letter from Fhirdiad had just arrived by Warp instead of the usual pegasi. Apparently, compensations from the Empire were rightfully urgent. The Empire-destroyed cities, and with it the loss of its guilds, trade, and agriculture, had left people idle and starving.

“… suffice to say, we require the much-needed compensations from the Empire as soon as possible. Signed, Duke Fraldarius.” Edelgard read aloud. She laid the letter on the table, crossing her arms and leaning back on her chair. “I agree. Commerce would help Fhirdiad. But agriculture? It was always futile to plant crops in Faerghus soil. What does this have to do with the empire?”

“Your Majesty, forgive me for my intrusion, but we salted most of their fields during the third year of the war.” Hubert said.

Edelgard visibly winced. “Nevermind, then. Let’s talk about funding and commerce.”

Ferdinand sighed. “What’s done is done. If you deem it necessary, Lady Edelgard, we could travel to the Kingdom ourselves. There, we could make compromises. We could discuss lenient tax reforms special to Faerghus given the circumstance, since agriculture is clearly out of the way.”

“Lenient tax reforms?” Edelgard asked . Ferdinand went on and on. Hubert rebutted him. There was now a debate on the table. Hubert sounded angry. Dorothea kept silent. She vividly remembered this Duke Fraldarius,  _ Felix _ , briskly dodging all her Thorons in Arianrhod. She was left behind, struggling with a sprained ankle, while everybody else had charged towards Cornelia. Before she could summon another spell—at least another Meteor or a Sagittae, she was sure then she could obliterate him—a collective victory cry. Cornelia was dead, and they had now captured Arianrhod.

She could say she saved Felix, though that was only to disguise her incompetence, and in a way, alleviate her guilt for it. If only she hadn’t missed, Felix would be dead, and there would be no mind-achingly inconvenient back-and-forth’s with Fhirdiad **.** A nuisance to the Empire, but a saint to Faerghus she was, wasn’t she? Wait, why the hell was she thinking about that? Were lives now worth the cost of an utterly vexing discussion about war compensations? Dorothea sat through the entire meeting saying barely anything. Occasionally, Edelgard would ask her for her opinion on this or that noble, or if she knew them, which baffled Dorothea, because she didn’t think her opinion would be special at all. Still, she forced the answers out of her mouth, wanted to pretend that she was one of them, that she, too, was infatuated with Adrestian order and power, despite it being something she barely understood.

_ How inconvenient. Just say the word and I will do it, Lady Edelgard,  _ Hubert had said with a laugh, but Dorothea knew he meant whatever it was he was trying to say, whether it was an assassination or a coup or a modus operandi. She watched his cheekbone move against his cheek as he laughed. It was a creature kicking under his skin. She wished she could get inside his head. Other than order, Hubert was infatuated with death. Ferdinand and Edelgard laughed, and Dorothea forced the laughter out of her mouth, too, because she wanted to prove her usefulness to them. 

-

When Dorothea returned to her bedchambers after dinner, she saw Edelgard’s dry handkerchief hanging by the corner of her desk and remembered its overdue return. She walked through the opposite wing, to Edelgard’s room, and knocked on her door.

“Come in,” She heard Edelgard say from inside.

She meekly opened Edelgard’s door, just enough that she could fit her head through. “Edie, here’s your handkerchief. I’m sorry it took a while, but here it is,” Dorothea said. She was waiting for Edelgard to approach her and didn't want to insert herself into Edelgard’s space. Edelgard didn’t move from her desk. She was reading a letter. Normally, Edelgard would have smiled at her in acknowledgment, ushered her to come over, but she seemed too engrossed with the letter on hand. So happy, that it was a bit unsettling. “Edie?”

“Dorothea, you can come in. You don’t have to wait for me to tell you that.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Dorothea said.

“You won’t.”

“Well, I guess I’m coming inside then.” Dorothea stepped a foot inside Edelgard’s room and slid herself in the slim opening of Edelgard’s door, still hesitant. Edelgard didn’t mind at all. The easy smile on her face was unmoving. She was wearing her glasses, golden and round, slightly magnifying her eyes just like Dorothea imagined. She approached Edelgard carefully. She still had the handkerchief in her hand. “Here’s your hankie, Edie,”

Edelgard finally laid the letter on the table. Instead of simply taking it from Dorothea, she held onto Dorothea’s palm, clutched onto it. The handkerchief was wrinkled between their hands. Edelgard looked at Dorothea, intensely, like she always did before kissing her, and Dorothea was almost ready to pounce. She was thinking about pinning Edelgard to the bed just a few feet away. All she needed was the slightest bit of encouragement—that was all she wanted from Edelgard, anyway—and she would press her against the table, put her mouth on every inch of Edelgard’s skin that she always wanted to own. Or she could make love to Edelgard on that chair, right then and there. If Edelgard said the word, she would, and then she would be completely ready. 

“Dorothea, thank you. You mean a lot to me.”

Dorothea looked at Edelgard, and she couldn’t remember the last time Edelgard looked like that. “What are you talking about? I did wash it for you.”

“No, in this world we’ve forged, are you happy?” Edelgard asked.

“I am, when you’re near.”

Edelgard grunted, but there was a smile. “That can’t be adequate. I hope you’re happy, spending your days doing what you love most, in a closer to perfect, fairer world. I can imagine your candid smile. That makes me happy.”

Dorothea smiled like it was a command. Edelgard wasn’t even asking her to do anything, and she wasn’t even sure what they were talking about. “Thank you, Edie. Sorry for the redundancy, but that makes me happy. Are you happy?”

“I suppose I should apologize,” Edelgard said, looking away. She put her glasses away and looked at Dorothea. “And since you asked, yes, I’m happy, especially so when you’re nearby. We made it through, and I’m so happy it hurts.”

“Edie, I’m glad to hear that, but tell me. What’s this about?”

“The professor is coming home.” Edelgard finally said. She picked the letter up from her table and offered it to Dorothea. Dorothea forgot about the handkerchief, about intrusion. She went over to Edelgard. An extra pair of spectacles were neatly folded on her desk. She walked behind Edelgard, leaning in to read the letter. She immediately recognized Byleth’s handwriting.

It was perfect. It was wonderful. It was another miracle by the Adrestian Empire. 


End file.
